Pocket Reflects on Turning Eleven

Somehow, I have reached my eleventh birthday.  Through bad teeth, irritable bowels, food allergies, impacted anal glands, luxating patellas, collapsing tracheas, skipped meals, ghastly poops, and general malaise I have officially begun my twelfth trip around the sun.

When I was young and went through several sick periods, my parents did not expect me to see this day.  When Foley left unexpectedly, they became slightly obsessive about my health, because they did not want to go through the heartbreak again, and they love me.

I know, at 11, no longer a pup but not quite a senior, that I have more yesterdays than tomorrows, and that is fine.  I scared my parents when it took me just short of two weeks to recover from having a giant’s finger poking around in my rectum. Two days after I was violated my irritable bowel, angry over my treatment, flared up, leaving me finicky about food, and uncomfortable, for 24 hours as my tummy rolled like the Bering Sea.  I also expelled a poop that resembled a Hieronymus Bosch painting of a crime scene.  As always, given time and pumpkin, I bounced back. After a week of ignoring my little red ball, which I usually chased with abandon each morning, I dropped it at Daddy’s feet yesterday and barked until he threw it.  Little Pocket was back!

 There was a time, although it seems unfathomable, that I was even smaller, a two-pound puppy who fit in Daddy’s pocket, hence the name.  I was introduced on social media at ten months, despite the objections of Foley, who was becoming a star and did not want her little sister sharing the limelight.  Foley said I could not go on Doggyspace until I was fully housetrained.  After a few weeks, Mommy overruled this regulation.  Thank God!  When it comes to house training, I am nearly there.

When Foley went to the Bridge, she left me to manage the Tanner Brigade and our blog.  Foley was a constant presence on the site, trying to make sure every member was happy.  I am less intense.  I want everyone to have fun, but leave them be, and ask that the last one out hits the lights.

I lived six years with Foley, and I am now beginning my sixth year with River.  It doesn’t seem possible I could live with River longer than Foley.  When she was here, Foley was clearly the boss. When River arrived, twice my size, we tussled over who would be the pack leader, before I stepped aside with a sigh.  I am a snuggler, not a leader.   I can still show River my ferocious side when I am angry.  Otherwise, I give my sister a wide berth.  That resting bitch face of hers turns into a real bitch face in a hurry.

My birthday passed quietly.  We didn’t have a party because I don’t play with toys, except my ball, and any stuffies would be ignored, although River would be happy if September 4 were her second birthday.  And since my tummy only allows pumpkin, turkey kibble, low sodium turkey breast, bacon treats, and an occasional bite of chicken, cakes or treats, while appreciated, are not practical, although River would beg to differ.

What I wanted for my birthday was normalcy.  A snuggly morning in bed with my parents, a good poop, a healthy appetite, an intense game of chase with my ball, my choice of two warm laps, a walk where I can bark at all my neighbors, and more snuggling.  To me an average day is heaven.

I am hoping, for this trip around the sun, that there is no turbulence or drama, but if it occurs, and it is bound too, that’s okay, that’s just life, and I am going to continue, thanks to my parents and my friends, live it happily, as I look out the window as this fascinating planet continues it’s journey forever and anon.